Close Shave

There are times where I really shouldn’t be watching television. Times when I’m more susceptible to infomercials. Like when I’m a little tired or emotional. These are times when the remote should not be thrust into my hands.

Last week, I was pooped from some work we were doing, and one of my dogs seemed sad. I’m not sure exactly how I determined his sadness, it just appeared he wasn’t alright about something, and he was just down in the dumps. Maybe he was missing his mom or something. So I was tired, my dog was depressed, so we had a little bit of chair time together. Nothing wrong with that. Leaning on each other’s shoulders. I’m not sure a Shih-tzu has shoulders, but if they do, I was leaning on them.

As we consoled each other, there was an infomercial on, and the remote was out of reach. So, I watched it. It featured a new type of electric razor specifically designed for women and men with fine facial and body hair. It purported to shave the affected area ‘painlessly’. Well. I wasn’t aware that this was necessary, but then again, I surely don’t know everything. The people in this infomercial offered up testimonials stating that this product made shaving with regular razors obsolete. Otherwise bearded ladies had now become smooth-faced models. Neanderthal-like men had now become the veritable ‘Statue of David’. All because of this amazing razor.

Naturally, I was interested.

Follow the logic. I’m a man. I have hair. Mostly in places I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be. In fact, while sitting with my depressed dog, I remembered a comment my wife had made. While lying in bed one night, this dog cozied up to my back. This dog is black. So, Anne quipped ‘Awww, look! She misses her mommy! She’s nestling in your back hair!’ At the time, I was a little insulted. But, admittedly, there is some hair back there. Let’s just say that, should I choose to walk around topless in the summer, I don’t need sunscreen on my back. There may be some car accidents, and some errant reports of a bear wearing pants walking around town, but, painfully, this is the truth.

On the television, there was a solution to my problem. With just two easy payments of $24.95 (plus shipping and handling), I could own a device that would painfully address all of this.

Now, again, follow the logic. For less than $100, I could have, in my hands, the means to please EVERYONE. My neighbours would be spared a Sasquatch scare. My dogs will be less confused. And my wife….poor Anne, who’s had to continuously be startled, walking into the bathroom or bedroom. Who am I to deny Anne the pleasure of a hairless torso?

There are, of course, other benefits that come to mind. Like, what if some kid is drowning in the river? If I have less body hair, won’t I glide easier through the water, thus getting to the hapless victim that much faster? When running, will I not shave precious seconds of my personal best time? If I choose to skydive naked, will this not help? Of course!!

So, I went and ordered it. Why not? What did I have to lose? And it only took two days to get it! Yee haa!

I opened the package, plugged in the charger, and waited the eight hours the instructions told me to wait (we all know how good I am with instructions). The device didn’t look quite like I had imagined it, however. I thought it would be bigger. Perhaps the models they used on television were uncommonly small. While pondering this and many of life’s other mysteries (and a little nap or two), the batteries were finally charged. Now, let’s try this sucker!

But where to start? I figured I should perhaps begin with a little test area, maybe one that is a little less obvious. After looking in the mirror, I decided my left armpit would be the first guinea pig. Switch turned on, I went in for the kill.

You know the sound a lawn mower makes when it gets stuck in a particularly thatchy area of an unkempt lawn? Well, that’s the sound this tiny razor made when it got stuck in my left armpit. And was it painless as described on television? Not even close. It wouldn’t even shut off….it kept gnawing away at my armpit like some possessed hair beaver. It finally just quit and died, sputtering and sparking into silence.

And then Anne walked in the front door.

Let it be known that it is very difficult indeed to appear nonchalant standing half-naked with a dead razor stuck in your armpit. But I’d like to think I pulled it off. And I’d like to take this opportunity to thank our local health care workers for their professionalism, grace, and discretion during this embarrassing ordeal.